May kahidlaw. Sa nagligad nga pagkitaay kang atun mga alima. Sa bag-o lang nagdapya nga hangin nga may hani halin kanimo. Sa gugma nga buhay run nalumus sa tiempo kag gulpi lang nagbutwa. Tudo ang uran sa gwa. nga daw ginabubo. Sa sulod ako kang sangka kwarto nga indi pamilyar. Kag daw baras sa baybay nga nagasiling ang akun balhas sa dahi. Sa pagbukas ko kang bintana nasug-alaw ang karamig kang hangin, ang garagmay nga agsik kang uran, kag ang kahidlaw. May kahidlaw. Ako. Sa imo. Sa imo. Sa gugma. ©All rights reserved. Photo by www.pinterest.com Advertisements
There is a man in my waking dreams. I see him when I close my eyes, disappears when I open them. He is no other man I’ve met before. He has lean body, one which I hug to sleep – one which I smell when I wake up, wrapped in his arms, wrapped in our sheets. He has well-cut hair: long enough to hold yet short to reveal his ears. He has fair skin that I bathe with scented soaps and gentle kisses. One with the almost-perfect hands that compliments mine; hands that I hold and fingers that tangle mine. He is everything a pillow can be, a handkerchief, a song, a cup of coffee, a good book, and everything I wish for a rainy day. But this man is no other man I’ve met before. Everything seems perfect and real. But everything about him is clouded because I don’t know this man. I haven’t met him yet. ©All rights reserved. Photo from www.pinterest.com
I started smoking The day you left. In hopes That when I blow my smoke Strong enough in mid-air, And you happen to pass by, I’d catch the outline Of the ghost Of what was once your love. ©All rights reserved. Photo from angrytrainerfitness.com
I wanna run to you. But I everytime I take one step You take twelve steps to the other direction. I guess you don’t really love me. Because every time I see you, I see a reflection of myself: In pain, waiting, one year. And it hurts like hell. ©All rights reserved. Photo from www.flickr.com
I have long admitted that my dull-colored wings are nothing compared to the glimmer of butterfly wings – filled with colors. That my fascination towards light is but a weak imitation of a butterfly’s adoration towards the vibrant hues of your petals. And so I have always wished on shooting stars for the courage to confess, to say that I am in love with a flower. But perhaps now I don’t have to. I know that soon, my wings will perish along with my body and my memories will be nothing but small gusts of wind on summer. For someone like me with such a short life span, it’s a tragedy to fall in love with someone who lives for seasons. But remember me when the leaves turn brown as my wings. When the leaves quietly fall to the ground in tiptoes like how I silently visited you last night to bathe in your pale light, and kissed you good night as your petals shun me for such an untimely love affair. © All rights reserved. Photo from www.jaybenimages.com
This poem, currently entitled ‘7/31/16’, needs a better title. Can you suggest for one? Read it again here to examine what better title you can give. 🙂
I’d count how many strands of hair there are in his eyebrows — left and right. I’d stay up all night just to see how he slowly opens his eyes in the morning; and how the very first rays of the sun reveal the chestnut beneath the ebony of his eyes. I’d fall in love with how he flips his lashes like big Malay fans creating mini-winds that leave my heart somersaulting. ©All rights reserved. Photo not mine.